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Talk:Role-Play 2/@comment-24431601-20140914030150
A large tree stood near the edge of the Hirushiyan Peninsula, the great desert. A great oak tree. Once sturdy and green, it now stood, a single leafless tree wih none of its kind around for miles, solemnly standing, all but dead, just like the hero who leaned against it. Feron was finished with this. His brown hair blew lightly in the wind that swept across the endless desert. He was surprised he wasn't buried in sand by this point. Feron had lived through war before; the leader of the ZombieHunters had gathered them and lead them through Dementia. They'd fought through skeletons, ghouls, ghosts, shadowalkers, even liches, to seal away the Darkness Within. After that he wanted nothing more than to return home, drop his weapons and never have to pick them up again. He came back, to his luck, at the peak of the Vecna Wars. The group helped Eglantis end it and Vecna defeated. They were all offered immortality by the Spirits of the Blade, which nearly all of them took, Feron included. In hindsight, he wished he hadn't. The 3rd Eglantian Civil War came, 15 years of chaos tore Eglantis apart and Feron had been totlly scarred by all his fighting. Another war was coming, and he couldn't bear to do this again. He hung his weapon, a whip, on the tree in a noose, prearing to hang himself. To slay himself using the very weapon he used to slay the others, and his own happiness. He tied it successfully, and prepared for his last moments, He prayed to each of the Eglantian gods. (Excluding Darktew. Donteadus isn't there yet unless you guys want to hack the storyline to have him in.) He said his last goodbyes to his fellow warriors who fought to defeat the Darkness Within. He said his favorite lines of philosophy and poetry to himself. He was proud of his last words: "We live in a world where all forces conflict, and we can lose everything. Our posessions, our loved ones, our freedom, even our lives. But there's one thing that can never be destroyed: our hope." They were words he'd always lived by. Hope was what sustained him since them, over many years. But now, he hoped more to die in battle than to live through it. Hope was strongest for him now of all times. He lifted his head to put the rope around his head, his green eyes seeing a figure on the horizen. Most likely a neek, based on its figure; after fighting for so long, they'd come to recognize the other human subspecies on a glance. Wait -- a neek? How was this possible? TImes had changed. Most neeks had died, trapped under the ruins of Vecna's fortress, frozen there along with the dead remains of Kas. Most of the rest were slain by Eglantian Killbots. Was there a tribe of neeks left somewhere? His curiousity got the best of him. Assuming this neek wasn't sent to kill him, perhaps he could make a friend with a neek before his death, to warn him of the incoming years of war and famine. -------------------------------------------------------------- The disease known as Phyresis had been growing rampantly across the Dubfox population like the black plague. Its cause was unknown. Some theorized a biological weapon from the mice or even fuzzers. Some theorized a new parasitic variation of quantum fuzz. Some even thought that the dubfoxs' immune systems were being weakened by constant dubstep energies, and that this Phyresis was simply the effects of other diseases such phthisis being amplified due to no way to fight them. Whatever the cause, antibiotics weren't working. Dubstep wasn't working. Explosions weren't working, which defied the Dubfoxs' very belief of existence, that everything could solved using the right amount of explosives. "I still have no idea how the council gave you approval for this." Grunted Turza to Ikata as the elevator ascended. He was a large dubfox, and viewed as one of the smarter ones by most, though Ikata saw him as an idiot whose only talent was making other people THINK he was smart. "You really don't have much evidence this is gonna work."